


Almost

by orphan_account



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Abbotsford footy scarf, Episode: s02e06 Marked for Murder, F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Of course Rosie had heard the rumors about Jack and Miss Fisher, and rejected them out of hand. But a moment glimpsed at the Abbotsford / West Melbourne footy match gives her pause.





	Almost

Rosie hadn’t intended to look at them at that moment. 

She had heard the rumors, of course, and assumed that the ones that other policemen’s wives were willing to tell her out loud were just the tip of the iceberg of the salacious stories in more general circulation. Curiously, Sidney was also interested in the rumors, asking whether the gossips had ever provided proof of their allegations. Rosie swatted away his inquiries. She knew Jack well enough to feel certain that he had not crossed that particular line. He was not a man who had torrid, clandestine affairs. 

And yet, what Rosie saw in that moment at the beginning of the footy match was far more disconcerting. 

As her brief glance in Jack’s direction turned into a too-long look at the scarf, and his hands, and Miss Fisher’s expressive eyes, Rosie _knew_. Her ex-husband and Phryne Fisher had fallen in love and seemed not to care that the entire stadium could read it on their faces as plain as day. 

Leaning over towards her, Sidney said something or other about the skills of an Abbotsford player and the action on the field. Rosie turned back to him, followed his words and observed the state of play, acting the part of attentive fiancé convincingly enough for his purposes. By the time she was free to glance again towards Jack, the moment had vanished. Miss Fisher was engaged in an animated conversation with a West Melbourne fan on her left. Jack was simply watching the game. 

Still Rosie’s unease lingered. And Rosie Sanderson was a woman who did not like to feel uneasy. 

* * *

Jack and Phryne walked side by side in the parking area after the match. The day had grown warmer and Jack had removed his overcoat. Phryne still wore his Abbotsford scarf. As they walked his hand brushed hers, but he never took it into his own. 

The stopped at the Hispano, parked in the shade of the few mature trees remaining in the grassy field. 

“You’re welcome at Wardlow for dinner,” Phryne ventured, hand poised on the car door but in no hurry to turn the handle. “Although I don’t know what Mr. Butler has on the menu.” 

“He never disappoints,” Jack answered, leaning slightly against the car. 

The scarf was once again within reach. Jack grasped the left edge, idly wrapping it around his fingers and drawing her imperceptibly closer, his eyes sparkling as they locked with hers. 

“Jack! There you are!” Rosie’s voice rang out across the distance. 

“Miss Fisher,” she added crisply as she reached them. Jack let the edge of the scarf fall and turned to face his ex-wife. 

“Father wondered if you might join us for dinner,” Rosie continued. “Sidney has been called to the docks unexpectedly and you know how Father hates to leave an empty place at the table.” 

Jack looked briefly at Phryne. When she declined to intercede, Jack stuttered the first few syllables of an excuse. Rosie quickly assessed the playing field and took the advantage. “If you’re done with work, of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a case.” 

“No. Nothing pressing,” Phryne answered brightly, papering over any of her own disappointment for the sake of public harmony. 

Jack’s response was in a more sullen register. “I’d have to stop home and change,” he answered. “I wouldn’t want you to have to hold dinner on my account.” 

“We’ll see you at seven,” was Rosie’s reply. The matter settled, she turned to leave, then paused as she saw Phryne remove the Abbotsford scarf from her neck and hand it back to Jack. “Is that the one I gave you for Christmas?” she asked. 

“I’m not certain,” Jack stammered. "I have more than one." 

“It’s lovely,” Phryne added. “Jack was kind enough to share it with me during the match.” 

Rosie reached out to touch the fabric as it lay across Jack’s arm. “It wasn't much of a present,” she replied. “We had lean years when Jack first returned. I believe this was the year of the police strike.” 

There was wistfulness to Rosie’s tone. 

Phryne had no desire to fault her — she knew, intimately well, what it was like to pursue daydream “what-ifs” that included Jack Robinson. 

As the silence grew awkward, Rosie withdrew her hand. “I’ll see you at Father’s, Jack,” she said warmly, and after a nod to Phryne — “Miss Fisher” — she left the playing field. 

Jack turned to Phryne to apologize, the scarf now balled up in both hands. 

She was already settled behind the wheel of the Hispano. “It’s an open invitation, Jack,” she said plainly. “Dinner. Nightcap. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jack nodded, then stepped back to watch her ease the Hispano from its parking space, maneuvering easily across the open field, then smoothly accelerating as she reached the open road. He didn’t turn his gaze until she had receded completely into the distance. 

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you who have been reading for me for a while will understand that this little piece does not reflect my complete view of Rosie Sanderson, but simply a plausible glimpse of her in one particular set of circumstances. If you haven't read me before, and would like a more rounded portrayal of her in one of my works, please also read ["What Comfort in Truth"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938207/chapters/24336501).


End file.
